


Jumping through shadows to find someone like you

by howlingmysteries



Series: It started with a story [2]
Category: Rise of the Guardians (2012)
Genre: Bedtime Stories, Friendship, Human!Jack, Jack's sad, M/M, but only for a minute or two, cuddle pitch, feel the feels, nice Pitch, poor pitch, rating just to be safe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-18
Updated: 2014-03-18
Packaged: 2018-01-16 05:42:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1334179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/howlingmysteries/pseuds/howlingmysteries
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pitch's POV - find out how Pitch feels about his meeting with Jackson overland. </p><p>How does he feel about being a bedtime story teller? He finds that he cant say no to those big brown eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jumping through shadows to find someone like you

**Author's Note:**

> Quick link here to my fan-art for this story! 
> 
> http://howlingmysteries.deviantart.com/art/Jackson-only-wants-a-bedtime-story-441253926
> 
> I will attempt to draw pitch Pitch soon! 
> 
> for now, enjoy ------>

Jumping from shadow to shadow, avoiding the odd rays of moonlight, until he reached the small village of Burgess. Pitch often went through this route when heading back home to his lair. Spreading any of his new nightmares to each child’s bedroom to get all the fear that he could before the Sandman started his round of dreams in this area.

Pitch scowled at the horizon, imagining the small annoying gold man floating into view. He sneered and looked at the small hut of a home in front of him. 

On his many visits to this village, he has only spared the odd glance at it occupants, never truly taking notices of names and faces. He has learnt over the years to not get too close to the very few believers that he has got during his time. They always stop believing and the moment they do, you can feel the crack physically splinter down your soul. Like a lightning bolt fracturing across the skies or a crack on a pristine layer of ice. 

A soft wave of fear caught his senses and brought him out of his reverie. He jumped through the obedient shadows, to a small wardrobe that creaked as he solidified and added his weight to the old wood. He froze, listening intently to the slightly shaky breathing of the owner of the room. 

The silence was stifling until he heard the tell tale sound of an old bed squeaking. A small huff of frustration was barely audible through the door. 

Pitch could feel the fear slowly ebb away which made him agitated. He should leave seeing as there is no more fear to consume, but something keeps him in place. A small pull to see who the child is, that can overcome their fear so quickly.  
He shadow jumped under the small single bed just in time to see a small pale ankle hesitate before pushing to the floor quickly. He caught a flicker of fear in the boy as he hesitated to pass the darkness under his bed. It made him smirk; knowing that stories of monsters under the bed affected him. 

A tiny speck of admiration crosses his face though, before becoming distracted by the form of the child slowly coming into his view.

From the pale ankle, to the baggy pyjama pants, to the lower back of the skinny figure and finally reaching the boys head of brown spiky hair. 

He watches, completely intrigued by the small human as he cautiously reaches out for the wardrobe door handle. He was a very curious boy, seeing as normally children cower under their blankets instead of getting up to confront their monsters in the dark.

He internally beats himself for not staying in the wardrobe, wishing to see his face and to find out if he could see him. 

He probably wouldn't. Nobody believes in the Boogeyman. 

Pitch’s sad thoughts burst by a definite, absolutely positive, disappointed sigh from the small boy. Why would he be disappointed? His wardrobe is free of monsters. His foot didn't get grabbed when he got up, so why is he disappointed with the emptiness of his safe little room? 

Pitch’s confusing escalates as the small boy turns around and heads back to his bed. The boards creak as weight is added above his head. 

He lays back and stares intently at the bottom of the bed in hopes of answers. Finding nothing, he uses the shadows to travel again. In a blur of black sand and darkness, he has to make a decision quickly. Stay and reveal himself and have the risk of feeling disheartened when he is not seen, or go back to his lair and plot against the Guardians again. 

Making his mind up, he solidifies in the still open doorway of the wardrobe and stares at the boy. He doesn't see him. Oh, great there’s that lovely feeling of my soul deflating, he thinks sarcastically. Why isn't he looking at him? He is too busy staring with a broken, brown eyed look at that dirty old book, to look at the fricking king of Nightmares, he thinks bitterly.

Wait, book?…Pitch looks closer and picks out the scribbled word ‘‘Jack’’ and the faint picture of a cloud with a half moon on the front cover. Realising why the boy was sad was easy but surprisingly unexpected. Why was the boy more emotionally troubled by not having a children’s story being read to him, rather than the possibility of having monsters in his sleeping space? 

Fast thinking always being one of Pitch’s strong points, he pulled together his Nightmare king demeanour and cleared his throat silently. 

‘‘Why the sad face?’’ his deep British accented, voice echoed around the small room, making the boy jump and turn to him with surprising speed.

Pitch stood and waited for the inevitable screaming and fear to swarm his senses. He looked down at the boy, only a few feet away, staring up at him with awe and wonder. Wait, awe? He did a double take and yep, the boy was gawking at him. Well, he does not think that, that is endearing and a little, he wouldn't lie, ego inspiring. 

His demeanour faltered slightly for a brief second, the situation only just hitting him of its importance.  
This boy believed in him. 

He hasn't been seen by a mortal in years. Not for lack of trying to gain publicity. Then, now out of the blue, there is a child who appears to have little to no fears and yet he believes in the embodiment of fear itself. He could feel a smirk growing on his face at how ironic his new believer is. 

‘‘Who are you?’’ a small, wonder filled voice, brings him back to the present. 

The smirk vanishes, what? How can he not know who I am? He believes in me so he must know who I am. The situation was getting stranger but he didn't let himself show too much of his confusion, or at least he hoped so. With a deep breath and squaring of his shoulder, he presumed the conversation. Wow, he hasn't had one of those in a while.

‘‘My dear boy, haven’t you ever heard of the Nightmare King?’’ he tried to sound dramatic and intimidating when announcing himself, hoping to show the mortal why he is called the Nightmare king.

The desired affect did not occur and instead he received a very bright smile which made him falter again. Who was this child and why wasn't he afraid? He thought with furrowed brow.

‘‘It’s nice to meet you Mr Nightmare King. I'm Jackson Overland’’ he chirped and a small pale hand shot out from seemingly nowhere. 

He stared down at the hand with sudden realisation that made his breath hitch. He hasn't had physical contact with a mortal for a very long time. He couldn't remember if he wanted to, not that he could because he was too focused on the small hand that looked so inviting. 

He caught the concerned look on Jackson’s face and it made him even more overwhelmed. Nobody has been concerned for him before. This small human boy, so skinny and curious was showing him more kindness than anyone he has ever crossed paths with. 

Pitch realised that he wasn't shaking his hand and so did Jackson, which made the boy go to lower it. Pitch quickly realised his chance was going so he uncertainly reached up and grasped the hand softly. 

He couldn't help but jump slightly, which allowed him to witness the concerned glance from the boy again. He composed himself, thinking that he must be acting strangely to the boy, before giving the fragile looking hand a more certain squeeze.  
‘‘If you prefer, you may call me Pitch Black’’ he said after a few seconds, feeling that he has crossed the line of just terrorising the child and instead becoming something that he couldn't put a name to; Acquaintances? Friends? 

 

He had never had a friend. 

 

A bright smile blinded him, even in the darkness of the room. When was the last time he had received a smile? The boy was an enigma and he just kept surprising him. ‘‘Thanks, you can call me Jack if you like’’.

Pitch was too overwhelmed and caught up with the moment to give a voiced reply. The only response that he could give was an uncertain nod. Why was the boy, no, Jack, just talking so freely with him; shaking the cold hand of a strange being that just appeared in his bedroom like he did this all the time. Speaking of his cold hand; it still hadn't released Jack’s smaller one. He was going to prolong the experience of touch for however long he was allowed. 

That was until he saw Jack’s quick glance at their adjoined hands and slowly, reluctantly released his. He didn't want to but he didn't want to creep Jack out; ironic huh? 

Pitch was brought out of himself by a small voice, ‘‘Um, Pitch?’’.

‘‘mmm?’’ he could barely speak, he needed to compose himself, but was there really any point, he would just be surprised again any moment now. 

‘‘Can you please tell me a bedtime story?’’ and there it is, the surprise. 

Pitch scowled at Jack, looking small on his tiny bed, staring up at him through his lashes. 

How dare this mortal ask such a thing of the Nightmare King? He would never do such a mind numbing, time wasting activity as reading a child a bed time story. He gives nightmares, not inspiration for good dreams. Sanderson should be doing this.  
He tried; he really did try to keep his scowl on his face as Jacks face suddenly became more adorable. Oh, the puppy-dog look. How he despised them. How could one shift of muscles make such an emotionally affective expression? He couldn't help but feel weakened by such a look. He couldn't say no, Jack’s eyes somehow looked brighter despite their dark shade. At the back of his mind, he felt that he didn't mind Jack making the puppy-dog face. He felt his shoulders deflate as he huffed out a sigh. 

Jack smiled at the clear sign of defeat and moved over on the bed slightly. Pitch threw caution to the wind, and bent his taller frame and squeezed up next to Jack. He waited for the boy to get under the covers before thinking about what story to tell. He wasn't going to mention the fact that the boy cuddled to his side because he feared that the boy may move away if he did.  
He couldn't believe he was doing this, nobody could have predicted the turn out of his evening. How could such a small boy bring down his defences in only 10 minutes? Whatever the reason, he felt that he didn't mind at all about the situation. He was happy. He was real and Jack proved that; to himself and his new believer. 

‘‘There once was a Dragon, an evil creature that roamed the land with dark intents. He would roar and spray fire with anger and was feared by all. However, as the story is told, you will learn that the Dragon was shunned by the people because of their fear, which in time made the Dragon bitter, angry, evil, but most of all, lonely.’’

‘‘Poor Dragon’’ Jack mumbled into Pitch’s side and clutched to his robe. 

Yes, poor dragon. Pitch thought solemnly, internally hoping that the boy couldn't see his face because he wouldn't be able to hide his sadness either way.

 

One thing brought him out of his gloom, as he looked down at Jack and thought about the story that he was making up a he went. 

‘‘Fear not dear boy, because on one special day, the Dragon crossed paths with a very unique boy. The boy had huge curious brown eyes that looked under every rock and into every crack to discover the unknown. 

The Dragon was already expecting the screams or attacks, but was pleasantly surprised when the boy’s face split into biggest grin that he had ever seen on such a small face. The appreciative, awe filled expression that made the gold around the boy’s pupils shine brighter. The beautiful laughter that erupted from the boy, brought down the Dragon’s walls that he had built around his black heart until a small smile grazed his scaly face; The first time that he had smiled, in a very long time.’’ 

He watched, mesmerised, as Jack’s eyes drooped and threatened to close in his exhaustion. He thought that he better wrap the story up, although he didn't really want their evening to end. Emotions flashed through his mind like a firework, feelings that he couldn't explain and he summed them up in his final words to the story. Thinking and really meaning the words as he says them out loud. 

‘‘The Dragon vowed to protect the boy and make sure that he never jeopardised the amount of belief the boy had in him because belief in the Dragon was a very rare thing; and he wasn't going to let that light in the boy even flicker’’.  
He waited until Jacks’ eyes were completed closed, his breathing evening out and his body laying limp before calling the shadows to him. 

‘‘Goodnight, Jack’’, he said next to the boys ear as he shifted in his shadow form, already thinking when he will next return to see him. 

Just before leaving, he caught a glimpse of golden sand swirling into the shapes of a large dragon and a small boy racing. He smiled for the first time in a long time, before being absorbed by darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> hey, everyone.  
> I would just like to say a huge thank you to anyone reading, commenting and giving kudos to my story.
> 
> what do you think? do you like this version of Pitch? 
> 
> Got any prompts for me to take into consideration for future parts of this series? Anything prompts given to me, will either be used or I will take ideas from them and give it my own twist.


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